


My Immortal

by sweetNsimple



Series: "Morally and Legally Unacceptable Histories" ~ Nanao-chan [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Burn Alert, Dark!Steve, Ex-boyfriends To Boyfriends, M/M, Psychopath!Steve, Serial Killer!Steve, Stane Is An Asshole, Stane Is Evil, Steve Will Kill For Tony, There Be Sass, Tony Needs a Hug, among other things, hurt!Tony, possessive!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These wounds won't seem to heal/ This pain is just too real/ There's just too much that time cannot erase..."  ~ Evanescence, "My Immortal"</p><p>It was just stupidity.  Maybe a little fear – not of him, but of himself, that he would eventually fuck it up anyway, so he might as well choose the easy way out.  That sounded just about right.  Tony Stark, breaking up with a psychopathic killer because of his own low self-esteem and not because of the hours of grueling police questioning, months of public ostracization, dozens of threatening phone calls and emails, the blood on his lover's hands, or his lover's dead victims being chipped out of the ice – </p><p>Well, okay, he had definitely broken up with him over all of that, and Tony had hated him for so long for the things he had done and had never told Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Immortal

“Tony.” Obadiah sighed and rested his forehead against his. He was older than Tony by a decade and a half and would look it if not for his impressive bulk. Tony looked into his face, so close as to be out of focus, and really just wished he would back the Hell off because he's seriously not in the mood. “I wish you would just let me in.”

 

Tony smiled, a slash of motion across his face. “I have! Several times in the past few days, as a matter of fact.” And a lesser person than Anthony Edward Stark would admit to hating every second of it, but not him. He was trickier than that.

 

“Well, your body is one thing – you've let half of New York in _that_ ,” he said, as if he was talking about a whore house and not him. “Your mind, Tony. I would love it if you would just let me inside of your thoughts.”

 

Tony snorted and swung himself away from Obadiah, feet over the side of the bed. He casually pulled the top comforter along with him as he made his way to the bathroom. “Y'know, a greater man would say that they would want into my  _heart_ .”

 

“I don't know if a greater man who could handle you,” Obadiah countered, and it wasn't the most subtle _“You don't deserve anything greater”_ that he had served in their four months together. _Hiding_ , because Obadiah, weapons merchant that he was, didn't want it to be public knowledge that he was fucking the leading factor of renewable green energy, much less playboy and rights activist Tony Stark. Stark was a reputation all of its own – Tony was a disaster.

 

He locked the bathroom door behind him. Obadiah was, for lack of a better word, his lover. Tony  _was_ a playboy, but he was also monogamous. When he was in a serious relationship, there would be only one body in any of his beds, only one voice he came to. So Tony wouldn't go out and look for someone else to keep him warm in the sheets, but he refused to deal with Obadiah's insults and advancements in the bathroom. 

 

This was his sanctuary. The fact that he needed a sanctuary in his own home made him want to laugh and shoot himself in the head. This was his own fault, though. He'd chosen this for himself. God, he had been  _so_ happy, so very happy, and now look at him! Getting drilled by Obadiah Stane, which just basically meant that  he considered his headboard while Obadiah jerked behind him to the end of his own pleasure. Obadiah used to be considerate about Tony's needs. Not anymore.

 

But,  _before_ , shit. If Tony hadn't orgasmed as least twice in one day, it was a marathon to make it happen by midnight. 

 

He stepped into the shower, grateful for the instant heat that splashed down on him as he fiddled with the nobs. Tony could still feel him, coming in and stepping up behind him, whispering into his ear, smiling against his cheek, laughing into his hair. Talking about dirty things and funny things and serious things, all under the steaming spray of water while they washed each other down.

 

Why had he given that up?

 

He snapped his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. Right. That. Yeah, it was for the best. No, heart, shut up,  _shut the fuck up_ , it had been for the best!

 

It had to have been, or else Tony was a loser.

 

Tony snorted and soaped his chest. He  _was_ a loser, look at him be all justifiable. He was still unhappy and angry and,  _God_ , he felt ridiculously lonely and in need of a cup of hot chocolate. 

 

He ran a hand over his face, soap stinging in his eyes, and he hissed at himself. Outside of the large stall, Obadiah tried the door, banged on it, and cursed. “Tony, why am I locked out?”

 

Tony blinked blearily at the porcelain wall, letting water rain down his face and ease the pain. “Because I locked the door.”

 

“I was hoping we could shower together.”

 

“I was hoping you'd be gone by the time I got out of the shower,” Tony muttered to himself. Then, louder, “Too late, sweetheart – I'm nice and warm and I'm not leaving this shower till I'm done! Better luck next time.”

 

Obadiah was quiet after that, so he had to assume he had walked away. Preferably right out of the front door.

 

Tony ran his hands down his sides, and froze with his hands on his hips. He could remember wider, heavier hands just there, pulling him back against a strong, heavy torso.

 

No one was watching, no one could see, so Tony let himself curl into the closest corner to the shower head, tiles very slightly warmer than usual against his skin, and curse himself for his stupidity. He'd called it morality at the time. No.

 

It was just stupidity. Maybe a little fear – not of him, but of himself, that he would eventually fuck it up anyway, so he might as well choose the easy way out. That sounded just about right. Tony Stark, breaking up with a psychopathic killer because of his own low self-esteem and not because of the hours of grueling police questioning, months of public  ostracization ,  dozens of threatening phone calls and emails, the blood on his lover's hands, or his lover's dead victims being chipped out of the ice – 

 

Well, okay, he had definitely broken up with him over all of that, and Tony had hated him for  _so long_ for the things he had done and had never told Tony. 

 

And,  _still_ , those hands had never hurt Tony. Those hands had been holding Tony, holding onto him, holding him down, holding onto the sheets, white-knuckling the headboard, gripping his pencils, touching Tony in a million ways, and none of them had turned him into one of his ice sculptures. 

 

“Steve,” Tony whispered. “I miss you.”

 

There it was. The truth.

 

Tony Stark missed his psychopathic, on-the-run, murderous ex-boyfriend. Who Tony had been planning on proposing to. Ouch.

 

A whole year later and it still fucking  _hurt_ .

 

He picked himself back up and forced his game face back on. He didn't hide in corners, that wasn't him. He didn't, he didn't  _pine_ over past relationships. He had moved on. Had other lovers. He had Obadiah. Sure, none of them were first rate, not like Steve had been, but, who ever would be?

 

He turned off the water and stepped out to face the world. Again. Just like Tony Stark always did.

 

Alone.

 

But, hey, whatever. It was fine. He'd manage. He'd gone this long, hadn't he?

 

~::~

 

Tony held his smile in front of the paparazzi as well as he could, then let it drop the instant he was behind black-tinted glass and Happy was at the wheel, taking him away.

 

He  _would_ manage. He just, he had to rethink this. He had to figure out what it meant, who it involved, and he had to bury the hope it brought up as deep as he could before he let himself think it was real. Because it  _wasn't_ .

 

But Chief Fury of the New York Homicide Division had told him that Steve was back. They didn't know where exactly, but one of the local butcher shops had gotten an ugly surprise in their freezer room. Chief Fury had warned that it might be a copycat killer – it just wasn't likely, though.

 

_Steve was back_ . 

 

Tony put one hand on his inner thigh and the other over his face. What if Steve came back to him?

 

Tony knew exactly what he would do. He would fall to his knees and he'd pucker up real pretty and he'd damn well make sure that Steve forgot that Tony had ever broken up with him.

 

He was already thinking up creative ways to make to a more isolated location with very few neighbors where he could live with Steve, in the off-chance that he was the reason Steve was in Manhattan, by the time he got back to his tower.

 

The secretary at the front desk warned him that Obadiah was in his rooms before smiling quietly, not bringing up at all the news.

 

“How did your talk with the police go?” Obadiah asked the moment Tony stepped out of the elevator. He had claimed his usual cushy chair facing the windows that looked over the skyscrapers and lights of New York. He held a wineglass in one hand, swirling Merlot. In the other, he held out a tumbler of Scotch for Tony. 

 

Tony carefully closed himself down, like switching users on a computer. He took the Scotch from Obadiah, but not without a kiss to the back of his hand. “Long, among other things.” He downed the Scotch carefully, feeling the warm curl like an old friend – like  _Steve_ , wrapping him up in a cozy embrace.

 

“Did they ask if you've been in contact with him?”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Well,  _mom_ , I don't see how that concerns you.”

 

Obadiah rolled his eyes, as if Tony really was his problematic child. “Why don't you answer the question.”

 

“Yes, they did ask. No, I haven't been.”

 

“I don't know why I even asked,” Obadiah said. “You wouldn't be here if you had been.” His eyes shot from the wine glass in his hand to Tony's face. “Don't lie to me, Tony.”

 

Tony shrugged. “Well, I  _wouldn't_ be here. I'd probably be at another police station or in an abandoned factory building, being turned into a Popsicle.”

 

“Oh, Tony.” Obadiah shook his head. “We both know he would never hurt you – and you would never turn him in.” He set the Merlot aside. “That's why I'm going to use you as bait.”

 

Tony paused. “Say that again?”

 

Obadiah's smile was sharp. “You don't think I've been fucking you all these long months because I thought your lose, sloppy seconds was enjoyable, did you? No. Captain Steve Rogers of the Army Rangers is wanted in three different countries for several murders. Admittedly, he only took down bigots and capitalists, but – they pay the best for their revenge.”

 

He considered the Scotch he had just drank. “This was drugged, wasn't it?”

 

“Very good, Tony. You might just want to lay down before gravity catches up with you.”

 

“He might not even come for me, you know that, right?” Tony sat down heavily on the couch. “And, if he does, and you do get the better of him, I will tell you right now. I will _end_ you.”

 

Obadiah stood up and patted Tony on the head like a dog. “You're only going to be alive long enough to get me Rogers. After that...” Obadiah pointed his thumb, pointer, and middle finger, 'cocked' his thumb', and made a “pew” sound as his finger gun went off against Tony's temple. “Sweet dreams, Tony.”

 

~::~

 

Anthony “Tony” Edward Stark was declared Missing after forty-eight hours in which no one caught sight of him at any of his properties, or got hold of him on any line of communication.

 

At four days, a blonde, broad-shouldered man stood at the front door of Obadiah's large country lodge. He knocked nonchalantly and waited for someone to let him in.

 

He'd basically been invited, so he thought against picking the lock. He smiled genuinely at the butler who answered him and followed the nonplussed man to the waiting room. He sat down at the leather couch, keeping on his thick bomber jacket, but dumping his duffel bag on the cushions beside him.

 

It only took five minutes for Stane to join him, flanked by roughly a dozen armored, armed men.

 

“Rogers! We've been expecting you.” Stane smiled and claimed the chair opposite him. “I was led to believe that you were an excellent tracker. It seems I may have overestimated your abilities, I've been waiting here since Tuesday for you.”

 

Steve gave a small smile. “Sorry for the disappointment.”

 

What he didn't say was, “I'll make it up to you by killing your guards, cutting off your dick, and feeding it to you. Could you tell me what room Tony is in now so I can just go straight there after I'm done here?” But it was implied.

 

Obadiah, as much a monster as Steve, smiled right back. “After we take care of you, I told Tony that I would let him see your dead body before I killed him. The suspense has been killing him.” He paused. “Among other things. He keeps trying to be his own hero.”

 

“I remember that,” Steve said conversationally. “He always did a better job taking care of other people instead of himself.”

 

“Didn't do a very good job with you, did he?”

 

“He could have turned me in instead of just telling me to leave.”

 

“You would have killed him.”

 

“Never,” Steve swore loyally. “I would have killed everyone who came between us, abducted him, and taught him how to love me unconditionally.”

 

“You should know now, before I signal for my men to kill you – Tony never did stop loving you. When I was balls deep inside of him, he was always thinking of you.”

 

Obadiah watched Steve's face, but nothing was given away.

 

“I'm going to think of him too while I shove your dick down your throat,” Steve said pleasantly. “Why don't we get this party started?” And then, as if he had practiced it, he threw his duffel bag up in front of him and charged.

 

~::~  
  


Tony was bleeding, and he had no one to blame but himself. Obadiah had originally just kept him locked in a room, dazed off of drugs. That had ended about evening of the second day. Then there had been zipties and the furniture in his room had been removed. That had lasted till that morning. Now they simply had piano wire wrapped around his body with the windows guarded with plastic and him chained in the middle of the floor on top of a thick mat away from the walls.

 

The piano wire, no matter how little Tony moved, kept cutting into his tender flesh. It almost made Tony laugh.

 

At this point, he was going to die no matter if Steve was here or not.

 

Tony heard someone fiddling with the locks on his door. He froze, listening, trying to gouge which of the guards it was. One of them had been giving him heated looks, and he just _knew_ he could get free if he could entice the little fucker to act out his fantasies. It would be distasteful, but Tony was willing to do it to survive.

 

The door opened – and there stood Steve. Bloodied, blonde hair disarrayed, holes and cuts in his clothes and jacket looking glossy and stained.

 

He looked beautifully happy to see Tony, as if they were old friends running into each other on the street.

 

“Baby,” Steve cooed. He frowned when he saw the shape Tony was in. “Don't worry, sweetheart, I know a doctor. We'll get you patched up.”

 

Tony looked up into that handsome face. His heart skipped a beat, a feat in itself with how far gone he was, and he knew that, yes. He still loved this man.

 

Well, damn.

 

He closed his eyes as Steve put his hands on him, crusty and rough and bruised, and everything swirled to black.

 

~::~

 

“You're awake.”

 

Tony hadn't been sure of that till the voice spoke up. He groaned and wished the voice would have let him believe he was still passed out for a little while longer. Now that he  was conscious, he was aware of pain all over his body, aching and burning, straining and throbbing. God, it was awful.

 

He forced his eyes open for the sole purpose of glaring at the owner of the voice, a man with pepper hair and strangely bright green eyes, like toxic waste. The man snapped off his gloves and offered Tony a tight-lipped smile.

 

“Bruce Banner,” he introduced himself. “You're Tony Stark.”

 

That effectively eliminated introductions.

 

“Steve went off to get you something to eat and I'm not allowed to touch you unless I put gloves back on. Steve is very mad about the, uh, 'relations' you've had this past year. It's made him a little unstable.”

 

And that got some of his questions out of the way.

 

He cleared his throat carefully. Luckily, Bruce did seem allowed to hold a glass of water to his mouth while he drank. When he was done, he settled back and studied the room he was in. He opened his mouth –

 

“If I told you, I would have to kill you. And then Steve would kill me. So don't ask.”

 

Alright, no knowing where he was. Whatever, he could handle this.

 

He turned back to speculating the good doctor. “You're that nuclear physicist...”

 

Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. “Yes, I am  _that_ nuclear physicist.”

 

“Your work is unparalleled, let me just tell you that now. I've read a number of your journals, they're all brilliant.”

 

Now the doctor looked surprised and uncertain. “Uh, yes... Well, thank you.”

 

Tony smiled slyly. “I also liked the way you beat wife beaters to death with your bare fists. Morally wrong, but very effective.”

 

“Ah.” Bruce nodded more to himself than Tony, as if this was what he had expected. “Of course. But you didn't like that Steve murdered people?”

 

The humor left him. “It's different.”

 

“Oh? How?”

 

Tony scowled darkly at him and turned his head away. “You know what? I'm pretty tired, I'm going to catch some more shuteye.”

 

“You mean, you're going to hide from the conversation.”

 

“Well, you would know all about hiding, wouldn't you?” Tony snapped.

 

There was stony, cold silence.

 

“Yes. I would. And I know that one of us is good at it, and the other isn't. Since one of us is a serial murder that has been on the run for six years without being caught once and the other has a history of being held hostage every other month, we can take a fair guess as to who is who.”

 

“I always break loose by myself.”

 

“So do I. That's why I've never been _caught_.”

 

Tony huffed and rolled his head towards Banner. “ Is that really something to brag about?”

 

Banner shrugged. “What makes me different from Steve?”

 

He cursed. “I thought we left that behind.”

 

Banner brought him another glass of water and made him sip it slowly as he talked. “You tried to leave it behind. I decided not to make it easy for you. ”

 

Tony didn't say another word after Banner took away the water. He shut his eyes and feigned sleep in the hopes that it wouldn't be an act for long.

 

Just as he was slipping away, resolutely ignoring the singular focus of Banner's stare, the door opened.

 

“Thanks for your help, Bruce,” said Steve, and Tony tried even harder to fall asleep. “Hi, Tony. How do you feel?”

 

Damn it, how did these people know he was awake?

 

He kept his eyes shut as he replied, “Like roadkill that got run over in a four-way highway.”

 

He thought he heard Banner leave. And then, lips were on his. Gentle and innocent, not pressing so much as just resting against him.

 

His eyes shot open and Steve's warm baby blue eyes were looking right into his. And it  _hurt_ . It hurt so bad to see those familiar eyes above him, full of love and awe and joy, as if Tony's very existence was an adventure Steve had never expected to go on.

 

Steve couldn't feel genuine emotions. He was a psychopath. Were those emotions actually genuine? That what he was seeing in Steve's eyes might be a lie hurt so much. It gave him false hope, and he couldn't kill it before it rooted in his chest and made him feel comforted and protected, just like before.

 

Tony went limp and sighed, letting Steve in because that was where he wanted him. It did hurt, to see and feel those emotions that had always so readily poured from Steve to him in the good days, and to know that they weren't real. But that didn't change anything.

 

Tony had said that he would take Steve back given the chance because, for whatever reasons Steve was doing this, whether he viewed Tony as an object he owned or as a pet that no one else was allowed to attach a leash to, or whatever else was there,  _he_ loved  _Steve_ . 

 

Steve pulled away and pressed their cheeks together, hot air blowing over his ear, and Tony shuddered at the overly familiar feeling. “Steve,” he said, and was about to add something sassy and cutting to open up a conversation, to do anything, really, but nothing else came. Except, “Steve.” He wanted to wrap his arms around him and pull him closer, but his arms jerked and swerved heavily in the air when he tried to. “Steve.”

 

“Tony,” Steve breathed back. “I missed you. A lot. I kept waiting for a sign or a message that I was welcomed back, that I could take you back, but there was never anything. I waited so long, Tony, I swear. I was going to wait longer, but then...”

 

Tony couldn't see it, but he could imagine the dark scowl on Steve's face, his icy eyes darkening in displeasure. He knew that look by heart, having been on the receiving end of it more than once. Especially early in their relationship, when all they had been was reluctant friends who both happened to know the Odinson brothers.

 

God, he had been teasing Death and he hadn't even known it. Not that Steve showed a disposition for killing innocent people, but... Tony wasn't exactly innocent. Or, at least, he wasn't a purely good person. And how Steve had thought of him, how the media painted him, he was lucky he hadn't come across as America's Most Hated Man.

 

Steve could have killed him. So many times. Dumped him in a walk-in freezer and gone about his life as carefree and publicly moral as before. Instead, he'd started a relationship with Tony.

 

And that was something Tony needed to apologize for because Steve never would have been found out if he hadn't gone out with the paparazzi's favorite show pony. Except he couldn't because he never  _really_ could.

 

So he pressed a kiss to Steve's jaw. “Take me back.”

 

Steve chuckled, the tension falling out of his broad shoulders. “It's good to have your  permission, but I was going to anyway.”

 

“Well, gee, thanks for letting me have the choice.”

 

“I did. For a whole year.” Steve pulled back and brushed his thumb over the ridge of Tony's cheek. “Neither of us were happy.”

 

He knew that face. Intimately. He tried to find the stranger in it, the guy who went out on the weekend every few months to slaughter another human being and chuck them into ice as some sort of public justice.

 

All he found was Steve.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Have a lovely day.


End file.
